Before 9:30

In the pre-Spence days, I would not even have left my bed before 9:30 a.m. on a lazy Saturday morning. These days are quite different. So far this morn, I have...

• proclaimed, "I am too tired I cannot even form words."
• pretended that the boy was still asleep and not kicking my rib.
• consumed large quantities of iced toddy coffee. (Have you not all made the switch?)
  
• made pancakes, ate, and kind of cleaned up.
• fed the boy.
• made the boy a strawberry shake which he promptly threw on the floor.
  
• mopped the kitchen floor.
• danced with the boy.
• bathed the boy.
• listened to the boy say "fish."
• changed two poopie diapers.
  
• vacuumed.
  
• mowed the lawn (after 8 a.m., of course).
• got pooped on by a bird.
  
• mopped the bathroom floor.
• had two relatively lengthy phone conversations.
• put the boy down for a nap.
  
• showered.
• got dressed.
• checked my email.

This is more than I accomplished in most weekends before the boy. Kids really kick you into gear. What have you done before 9:30?

Weeds.

Calla lilies are not weeds.

After an afternoon discovering and picking cala lilies in our backyard, much like Columbus discovered America, I was sat down and told that the cala lilies were not weeds. They don't just happen unexpectedly. But, they were planned, planted and nurtured by my mother's care.

She was a gardener. I was just 10.

On this the day of her birth, I decided to go out and whip our decidedly not-cala lily weeds into shape. Spence was otherwise occupied kicking our stolen red kickball. So I grabbed the tiny gardening implements and hit the "flower" boxes.

A full three minutes into the adventure, a decidedly prickly plant pierced my skin. Yes, I should have been wearing gloves, but I hate feeling confined. It was a bit tingly, but I actively practiced denial and surrendered to the gloves.

Now five minutes into the "gardening," I brushed my forearm against the prickly weed. Another minute passed and the tingly became an annoying burning. Spence dodged out of view and I quickly helicoptered over to him. By the time I returned to the task at hand, my forearms had erupted into puss-filled pillows. I grabbed the boy and went inside.

He kicked and screamed at the thought of leaving the outdoors. I glanced down and actually watched the pillows inflating. I searched for something to take. No luck. A flooding sensation of sedation started to overtake my body. I flopped on the couch and called Dave. No answer.

"Allergic to plant. Swelling," I texted him. He called within moments.

I burst into tears and started slurring my words. He threatened to call 911. He was home within minutes, loaded me into the car and spilled me into the Northeast Clinic despite my active protests peppered with more tears.

An antihistamine under my doctor's watchful eye and I started to feel even more drowsy, but less drugged.

I guess I am less of a gardener.

The Coffee Jar.

With all this drama about BPA, I humbly propose The Coffee Jar. Now, it is not my idea...I gleaned it from some other source which has now flown out of my brain. But, it really is perfect for you iced coffee drinkers, which with the weather warming up, you all should be.

I do have the pricey SIGG water bottle for the boy and a lovely Thermos contraption that I stole from my father-in-law. And my dear Resident Teachers just gifted me a fancy dancy coffee mug so that I would no longer have to lug a jar around. But for this moment in time, I cannot get enough of The Coffee Jar.

Oh Coffee Jar, how I love thee! Let me list the ways...

1) If you lose it, it was just a jar. No feelings of expensive coffee carriers lost. You can just smile and imagine someone recycled it.

2) It seals completely. It easily tucks into your bag.

3) No BPA.

4) Very large. With this boy in my life, I consume a lot more coffee. With The Coffee Jar, you can pick your size. I choose 24 ounces.

5) It's a conversation starter. You know people will ask you about The Coffee Jar on the bus.

Go ahead, try The Coffee Jar then share your favorite reason for using it.

Time Warp.

I never did go to the Rocky Horror Picture show dressed in lingerie. But, I did do my fair share of pelvic thrusts while singing the "Time Warp" in high school.

"It's just a jump to the left
And then a step to the right
With your hands on your hips
You bring your knees in tight
But it's the pelvic thrust that really drives you insane,
Let's do the Time Warp again!"

To be honest, I am not exactly sure what the song is about and less sure what the movie was really about. But, there are objects that I run across that seem to interrupt time and force me into a new timespace.

Like, the green-starred cylinder at the Central Library. Today, I started off here...

and Time Warped back here.

7 hours.

The clock is ticking. The boy is sleeping. What is holding me back?

In little more than 7 hours, I will need to not only hand over a finished paper, but also present it. Take questions. Act as if this was a labor of love. As if writing was pleasurable. As if my ideas will really contribute to the betterment of the world.

A performance of a lifetime. On 2.5 hours of sleep.

Accepted!

The news just came in over the net...

My abstract was accepted! Spain is in the horizon!

Now I have to figure out how to pay for it...

Happy Mothers' Day.

Today, traditionally, has not been a very good day for me. It's been 21 years since I got to celebrate with my mom. 20 years of terrible, no good, very bad Mothers' Days. With the babylove, Mothers' Day has started to look up.

This one started off rough. Modern Love tortured me a bit. I usually shed a few tears when I read it, but today I was a sprinkler system by paragraph 2.

Red eyed and sniffly, I helped my malformed husband get into the car, while carrying our son and all appropriate baggage. Dave sat down on the kitchen floor yesterday to play with Spence and stood up crooked. Literally. He can no longer walk (really) and sort of shuffles along on his tip toes. There was no "Honey, you sleep in. It's Mothers' Day." Not even a routine day, as Dave is vital to the whole operation. Today was a taste of single motherhood with a hunched husband in tow.

We had a lovely brunch with my mother in law before we set out for Urgent Care. It should have been Fathers' Day. Dave loves the special attention of Urgent Care and it could have been a treat. But, it was decidedly not his day. And this was no treat for me. Spence and I got to spend a few hours destroying Barnes and Noble and pooping a lot (Spence, not me) while Dave waited to be seen.

We picked up his narcotics, drove by the house we're coveting, and headed home. My mother in law made another appearance to spend a little QT with the boy while I took a power nap, grocery shopped and make sloppy joes and kale for dinner.

Every day with Spence is unusually great. Even this one.


It doesn't mean that the hole in me that yearns for my mom is filled. It's as big as ever.